


It's Always the Classics

by Medie



Category: The Middleman (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-07
Updated: 2010-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you get right down to it, Wendy knows, she'd make a bitchin' bad guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Always the Classics

**Author's Note:**

> written for this year's porn battle. Prompt was "never have I ever"

When you get right down to it, Wendy knows, she'd make a bitchin' bad guy.

She would. Awesome clothes, the perfect one liners, and hey, she already has vastly inappropriate feelings for the hero of the story.

Well, the _other_ hero of the story. That's one reason she's not evil. She already has the awesome clothes, the perfect one liners, the vastly inappropriate feelings, but she gets to be one of the heroes on top of all that. She even gets to do it with fabulous hair. The Middleproducts are _gold_.

Life is indeed, pretty damn sweet, but it is, hopefully about to get a lot better. After all the work she's put into this? There will be some impressive retribution. It's not enough to turn her, you know, _evil_ or anything (which has always seemed really stupid anyway) but there will be retribution.

A girl does not bust out a plan like this just to get shot down. Not that it is going to happen, of course, Wendy is Wendy and she knows how to craft a goshdarn plan.

"This is -- " the boss - wow, _so_ not appropriate to be calling him that right now, sputters. "Wendy, I have never – This is -- " he huffs a sigh. "Gosh darnit, Dubby!"

"You know, I think I should take it as a compliment that, right now, you're entirely incapable of forming complete sentences," Wendy grins. Throwing one leg over him, she slides into his lap and hellooooo Middle--yeah, even she can't make _that_ pun.

But she really, really wants to.

"Dubby, I," he's still sputtering and there is hand flailage. Possibly, he's afraid to put them down. She's kind of made that an _issue_. It's cute. "Debbie's drawers, Wendy, do you know how inappropriate this is? Why we're violating half a dozen different codes of conduct by your lack of support garments alone!"

Wendy glances down at her chest and then looks at him. "Oh, come on, the girls are totally pulling it off, you've got to admit." Because they are. Simple business attire (totally accented by being conveniently devoid of pants, you understand) of a classical design in the form of a crisp white shirt _always_ makes them look their best.

Why she's reasonably sure – only reasonably because, yeah, _there_ is a conversation she and Lace are never, ever going to have – that they're perkier than Lacey on her third cup of soy latte. Environmentally grown, half-the-profits-donated-to-the-farmers, only of course.

"Seriously," she leans closer, "are they not _amazing_?"

The Middleman's cheeks flare a rosy red and, despite his best efforts, his gaze drops. Drops and lingers. Oh yeah, there is lingering. Lots and lots of lingering. "Why yes, of course they are, Dubby, your breasts are quite -- " he coughs. "Quite."

Wendy smiles. "Thank you."

"However -- "

God, she hates the howevers. She really, really, _really_ hates the howevers. There are whole legions of four letter words out there that try, and fail, to accurately describe just how much she hates howevers.

"However, what?"

MM raises his eyebrows to somehow gesture to her current attire (or near lackthereof) before saying, as gently as possible, "Dubby, you've been exposed to a highly concentrated form of sex pollen. Your judgment is quite severely impaired. To act on any attraction right now would be a massive violation of your trust. Why I could never forgive myself if I were to act—mmphdubfft!"

Ostensibly, she kisses him to shut him up, but really? Not so much. For the record, the Middletongue is _amazing_.

"For the record, Boss, you are adorable when you're concerned for my virtue," Wendy says, first and foremost. "Which, by the way, went the way of the Dodo eons ago." She sits back, resting her hands on his arms. "The thing is that your concern, as sweet as it is, it's a little misplaced, though, because I'm fine."

"No, Wendy," he says, gentle as ever, "you really aren't. I know that you feel _fine_ but the lockdown was in response to your exposure. I can --"

"No, you can't," Wendy says. Her lips tug up into a playful smile. "Do you know how easy it is to convince Ida to engage a lockdown?"

"It isn't," MM replies. "Why Ida is wholly uncorruptable."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Do we need to bring up the nanobots? Because I will."

"All right," he amends, "Ida is wholly uncorruptable when there are no tiny, deviant computers running about. She simply would not -- "

"She would," Wendy says. "At least, if threatened with certain consequences like, say, the introduction of Windows Vista into her systems."

The Middleman's eyes widen with horror. "_Dubby_, how could you?"

"I am a woman on a mission," Wendy says, grinning, "You see, my plan was sheer elegance in its simplicity. Ida triggers the lockdown. I find you, sex pollen exposure is inferred, bones are jumped, and you totally fail to notice said sex pollen is well past it's best before date." She squirms, hips making a slow lazy glide of it, and he rocks up to meet her. "So, how am I doing?"

"I'm to assume," he says, breathless, "that the lockdown was entirely a part of that plan?"

"Oh totally," Wendy nods. She tips her head and surveys his neck with a critical eye. "Do you have any aversions to hickeys?" she asks, fingers tracing one spot. "Because I'm thinking there is serious hickey potential here."

He whimpers. No equivocating about it. The Middleman, bastion of truth, justice, and 'aw shucks', whimpers. His hands slide over her thighs, calloused palms raising gooseflesh on her legs. "Dubby, I shouldn't -- we can't -- "

She kisses him. Gentle, slow, plenty of time to be backing out, all that important Middle-esque things that are so important to them both. It's his choice now, byzantine schemes aside, and all she can do is wait on it.

His hands tighten, pressing into her skin, and his mouth opens beneath hers. _Hello_ Middletongue.

"So," she says, when that pesky, entirely annoying thing called breathing interrupts, "my plan?"

Her shirt hits the floor and his jacket, tie, and undershirt follow in short order. A tiny gasp escapes her when he introduces himself to her breasts. "Sheer elegance, Dubby, sheer elegance," he says, speaking against her skin. "As always."

There's a reason it's a classic.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Prurient Pollen Pollutant Proposition (The Classic Mirrorverse AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/87084) by [thedeadparrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadparrot/pseuds/thedeadparrot)




End file.
